


Dry Socks and Hospitals

by Pistol



Category: The Losers (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:07:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22041820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pistol/pseuds/Pistol
Summary: The world spins for a moment, and Jensen does his best to hold his breath while holding in the blood trying to escape from the new hole in his stomach.
Relationships: Carlos "Cougar" Alvarez/Jake Jensen
Comments: 6
Kudos: 82





	Dry Socks and Hospitals

It's hard to bleed out in the rain.

Okay, actually, it's as easy as bleeding out as it is in any other weather. Except maybe the extreme cold. Jensen's not certain about that, but he bets Cougar would be able to tell him. 

Poor fucker spent six weeks doing wet work in Russia last year. As soon as Cougar was back stateside, the first thing he'd done was steal everyone's blankets and shove Jensen into his bunk. The evil fucker had proceeded to plant his somehow _still_ cold feet against Jensen and refused to move them for a whole day. 

Good times. 

But back to the point, whatever it was. Bleeding to death _fucking hurts_. 

Despite the ease of bleeding out in the rain, it's a bit harder to tell how much you've lost when you can't tell if the puddle you're sitting in is 20 percent blood or 70 percent blood.

Hard but not impossible if you're willing to ballpark it. 

Factoring in the lightheaded feeling and the swirly dots dancing in front of his eyes, Jensen can estimate he's pushed past what is generally considered to be the acceptable levels of blood in a blood-to-puddle ratio. 

And, _fuck_, why didn't he become a librarian? Or sell goldfish at Wal*Mart? Or open a shitty restaurant that sells Tex-Mex food like a normal person? _Those_ people don't get shot and stop to wonder if they've lost an acceptable amount or an unacceptable amount of blood. They just, you know, scream and piss themselves. Which really doesn't sound all that fun or dignified, but still. Jensen just had to go and sign up for-

_Fuck._

The world spins for a moment, and Jensen does his best to hold his breath while holding in the blood trying to escape from the new hole in his stomach. It's getting harder to make his hands move, let alone keep any consistent pressure against the slippery mess, but something's always better than nothing. Hopefully, that logic applies to more than just self-help seminars.

It must apply, because the pain seems to be leaving Jensen without the intervention of drugs. 

Wait... That's probably _not_ good. 

That probably means he's entering the talk-about-the-good-times or the last-message-for-your-girl-back-home amount of blood loss. Or, in his case, it's more the last-message-for-a-laconic-sniper, but Cougar's not here and Jensen's all by himself. You know, unless you count the angry men with Norinco 56's on the other side of the compou-

Oh _shit_.

Cougar is gonna be _pissed_, like show the angry men with guns what an angry man with a gun that _isn't_ a cheap Chinese knock-off can really do. Pissed enough to bring Jensen back from the dead with black magic so Cougar can glare at Jensen before killing him _again_. Pissed enough to -

Fuck. _Breathe_.

It shouldn't be so hard for Jensen to focus on his kinda-sorta boyfriend guy upsetting the cosmic order, but it is. Focusing on the swirly red-pink water that he's sitting in seems easier. And right now, Jensen's a big fan of easy, so he goes with it. 

The water's very pretty. Very shiny. 

Jensen likes that it's not pink so much as a light red. After all, he can't have Roque heckling his corpse because he died in Petunia-pink water. Fucker would probably make a point to say something at his funeral. And that? Would _not_ end well. 

It would probably make Pooch, Clay, and Jensen's niece cry. You know, 'cause they love Jensen so _much_ that Roque being mean to his corpse would upset their fragile emotional state. Their crying would make Jennifer and Cougar get all scary and overprotective, as is their way, and then they'd kill Roque. 'Cause they love Jensen, too, no matter what they say, what bumper stickers they have custom made, or how loud they yell their lies in public places.

It's better this way, dying in red-stained clothes instead of pink. More manly, and most importantly, less death and jail time for people Jensen cares about.

Jensen takes a moment to close his eyes and be proud of himself for making a manly and crime-preventing puddle of blood water.

When he opens his eyes, there are fuzzy hands in his line of sight. They dance about before forcing Jensen's head up. Hey, Cougar's face is here. It has a few too many eyes, but Jensen knows that face anywhere. 

It takes a moment, but his vision finally stops spinning and Cougar only has two eyes again. Two very nice eyes that are very much ruined by the angry look he's giving Jensen.

Jensen scowls because he _really_ wants to tell Cougar to knock off the bitchy face but it seems like a waste of energy. Aren't these last moments supposed to be more about confessions of love and respect and _not_ about glaring at a dying man?

Clay's face appears next to Cougar's, making the world move too fast for Jensen's comfort. 

When it slows back down and Jensen can see again, Clay is sporting his very own version of the upset-with-Jensen face. Clay's manifests less as a bitchy look and more as a disapproving forehead crinkle and scowl. 

Pooch and Roque are nowhere to be seen, but Jensen's willing to bet they're also rocking their own upset-with-Jensen faces. 'Cause Jensen was supposed to be watching the back door. Not making crime-preventing blood-puddles. And while Clay never _specifically_ said Jensen couldn't get shot, it was probably heavily implied in one of his pointed looks during the mission briefing. 

The thought prompts a tiny giggle from Jensen that makes everything decidedly less funny. For several painful hours -- or maybe just seconds -- Jensen's head feels like one of Roque's knives is bouncing around in his skull. Breathing is getting harder and his mouth tastes like blood. Shit, blood in his mouth with no facial wounds or bitten tongue basically means ... 

Not good. 

At this point, Jensen doesn't feel up to keeping score of the good things versus the bad things. He's sure bad is winning anyways. 

Right now, he just wants dry socks, for people to stop shooting him, and pain killers. Which never _used_ to seem like a lot to ask for back in the day. _Then_ Jensen went and joined the Losers. 

And _goddamn_, the pain is back, and it's making up for lost time.

There's an angry noise that sounds a bit like Clay, but Jensen can't understand it. He speaks four languages, so it's kinda sorta distressing that he can't make out a single fucking meaning for any of the sounds being shouted at him. He does, however, recognize Cougar's rarely heard _loud-because-I'm-just-that-angry_ voice. 

It's never a good idea to be around for that voice, let alone _cause_ it.

Jensen's willing to bet that the people who shot at him are also making bloody water puddles if _that_ voice is coming out to play. 

'Cause things that make Cougar yell also tend to lead to the bad guys dying in un-fun ways. 

Well, it can also lead to Cougar 'accidentally' shooting Jensen's laptop. 'Cause no matter how much Cougar swears it's the truth, Jensen doesn't believe for a second that Cougar mistook his laptop for an armed Chechnyan. 

They weren't even in the same continent as Chechnya. 

Cougar's claims that he doesn't get jealous? Yeah fucking right, 'cause seriously? One _teeny tiny_ comment about John Luther and Cougar is 'seeing' armed Chechnyans. The whole ordeal had cost Jensen a laptop, the first two seasons of Luther, and had given Clay grey hairs.

Jensen's not so sure he's gonna get another chance to make Clay's hair turn grey again, which is fucking tragic.

Jensen tries to explain this to Clay, but he can't seem to move his lips, let alone his tongue. He does manage to drool an impressive amount of blood all over his chin.

Jensen still can't understand anything that's being said, but he knows the look in Cougar's eyes and the rhythm his lips take up. 

Cougar, good old Cougar. Still trying to save Jensen's soul even when bullets are still flying. 

It makes Jensen want to kiss him. 

It makes Jensen want to hit him.

But the thought gets lost in a numbing ache, and Jensen can't remember ever feeling so cold and hot.

Maybe Cougar's right and there is a hell. 

Maybe Jensen's there, and Cougar's prayers were too late. 

It's the easiest explanation for the hot, hot, burning _cold_ traveling up his body. It sounds wrong, because cold is not hot and hot is not cold, but Jensen can feel cold fire, so everyone can fuck off. 

The sounds around him begin to tune out until everything is a high whine, and then something is happening. Clay turns with his M9, looking badass and heroic, and totally like the person Jensen wants to grow up to be someday. Cougar's moving alongside Clay, rifle up, muzzle flash lighting up the night, totally like the person Jensen wants to fu-

_Crack_

Jensen hears the crack, and the millions of echoes that follow in his head. That sound becomes his whole confusing and messed up world for a while, and it takes a moment to realize that it was the sound of his head meeting the ground. 

Time, much like Cindy Sherman after Jensen enlisted, moves on without him.

***

Jensen regains consciousness and finds himself laying on a stiff bed. It's one step up from a wooden floor and one step down from a soft dirt floor. 

He takes a moment to hate his day job for making him aware of this before opening his eyes.

There's a rush of movement from what looks like a blurry, tanned ghost and Jensen can't focus, because after the brief foggy haze, there's only _pain_. 

Pain that seems to be having its way with him. Jensen gets the feeling pain doesn't care that he doesn't want what it's offering. No means no, but clearly pain never had a good role model tell it that. 

Jensen only faintly notices that he's emptying his stomach contents all over himself while people-shaped blurs move at dizzying speeds around him. 

The pain crescendos, and then he feels a prick of minor pain on his inner elbow, effectively distracting him from the bigger pain. Then, there's nothing.

***

It takes Jensen a while to figure out that he's sitting up. Well, he's being held up by what looks like four arms in a bathtub. Icy water surrounds him and two other hands are pouring more water over him, using what appears to be coffee cups with kittens on them. 

The pain is still there, hot and bright under Jensen's skin and making it hard to do more than let his head slump forward and watch the kittens chase yarn while the hands keep moving.

He knows those hands. 

He's really, _really_ sure he knows those hands. Sadly, Jensen's brain isn't working and his body wants to be anywhere but in this freezing water.

Someplace like ... a hospital? The kind of place where people who have _normal_ jobs tend to wake up after they get shot.

There's noise echoing off the walls, and Jensen debates trying to figure out what it wants, because seriously, it's getting fucking dramatic and loud, but those hands ... Those hands, they _bug_ him.

Almost as much as the lack of a hospital.

Jensen is _mostly_ sure those hands aren't his, so he watches them in hopes they slip up and reveal their identity. 

His throat feels sore and raw like he's been screaming, and he wonders briefly if he's making the sound that won't stop. 

Oh _goody_, that is him. Way to be dignified, body. 

The world slips away just as Jensen realizes he could have looked up and seen who was attached to the hands.

***

When Jensen wakes up, it's blessedly quiet. And dark. A soft, sleepy-feeling flows through his veins telling him that he's drugged. Not the bad kind of drugged, either, but the they-broke-out-the-good-shit kind of drugged.

And _really_. 

Why is his life one long list of depressing comparisons that no one should _ever_ have to make?

It takes Jensen a while to realize it's dark because his eyes are closed. He tries and fails twice to open them before giving up and taking a break. 

It's best not to push these things, or you might end up stressing your body and almost drowning in your own bile. 

Which, _yeah_. Jensen knows this from experience. 

And again, how _fucked_ is that? How fucked is his fucking job? How fucked is his fucking _life_?

It'd be nice to commit to having a midlife crisis and put a stop to this bullshit. 

Jensen knows he'd never do something as stupid as buying a new car that costs a quarter of a million dollars. But the idea of sleeping with anyone he wanted to and switching jobs so he would never get shot, stabbed, or you know, blown the hell up sounds _super_ appealing. Like 'don't bother really reading the fine print, because Jensen can live with just one kidney, one lung, and no thumbs if that's what it took' appealing.

Sighing, Jensen pulls together all his strength and forces his body to fucking _listen_ It works this time because his eyes open to a water-stained ceiling. In the corners of his eyes, there's a familiar scuffed suppressor pointed at the very same ceiling.

Jensen tries, and fails, twice to get his head to move, to get _anything_ to move, but then it doesn't matter, because Cougar's face fills his line of sight.

Jensen wants to open his mouth and snark about Cougar's ugly-ass shaggy beard, but his body hates him so it only slurs out meaningless noise. 

Cougar's face twists into a neutral expression that Jensen knows means something. It takes a moment to re-orient himself with his Cougar-reading skills, to translate all the things Cougar isn't saying. When Jensen's done, he's glad his body hated him. 

Cougar looks blank. 

The carefully blank expression mixed with wild eyes tends to mean _shit-has-hit-the-fan-so-Cougar-is-gonna-shoot-anything-that-isn't-Jensen-shaped_. Jensen's only seen it once before, and Roque has mostly forgiven Cougar since then.

Cougar's hair is noticeably in need of a wash and the amount of hair on his face has never, _ever_ been tolerated by Cougar under _any_ circumstances. Even when running for their lives, Cougar never let his stubble turn into the full beard the rest of the team ends up rocking. Cougar'll scrape it off with Roque's knife or sharp rocks thrown in a fire if it comes down to it. 

Jensen can smell the sweet-sour breath, and general _funk_ in the stale air; and he's willing to bet it's not all his. 

It must have been _bad_ if Clay, Roque, or Pooch couldn't get Cougar to even shower. Fucker is finicky and as clean as a goddamn cat.

"'M'h." Jensen's voice and lips cracking with the effort. He swallows twice and Cougar's eyes go into full-blown panic, "M'kay, ougs," he manages to croak out. 

Cougar's eyes calm a little, and he exhales a puff of sour air before disappearing from Jensen's sight. A hesitant weight rests on Jensen's shoulder, and if Jensen focuses behind the pain, he can feel oily hair and skin pressing against his own. 

Deceptively-soft Spanish words drift up to his ears, cursing him, chiding him, and generally letting him know that Cougar is not pleased with his shit. From the sounds of it, Cougar probably made a grown man or two cry at some point while Jensen was out of commission, just because he could. 

If they were any other people, people who didn't understand things like how short life really can be, Jensen knows he'd be sleeping on the couch for fucking _years_. But they're the people who get paid to travel dangerous places, kill people, and get shot at when they don't kill people fast enough.

"Y'h st'nk, Cougs," Jensen says, because tact is for people that make life choices that _don't_ cut their life expectancy in thirds.

Cougar growls and Jensen pretends he can't feel warm moisture falling onto his shoulder or the tremors in Cougar's body.

Jensen just concentrates on the feel of the smelly, unwashed - and above all else - pissed off Cougar who is definitely not cuddling into his side. 

The same person who will, with no doubt, make Jensen''s life a living hell as soon as he's sure it won't accidentally kill Jensen.

Jensen knew he didn't want the expensive car, but he was a fucking idiot to think he'd want anyone but Cougar, stinky or not, in his bed. 

Or on his dirt floor, you know, if it's one of _those_ weeks.

Jensen concentrates and strains his muscles until he can move his hand up and over enough to rest it on Cougar's hair. He slowly, because it's really fucking hard to do, moves his fingers through it.

"M'ss'n?" 

"We got what we needed." Cougar sighs arm gingerly moving to drape across Jensen's uninjured skin. "I asked them to leave after you stabilized," he says quietly into Jensen's shoulder.

So, yeah. Clearly that bit is sugar-coated, but Jensen's gonna leave that alone and hope Cougar didn't turn anyone Jensen cares about into swiss cheese. Clay can only look over so many things, and they used up their last get-out-of-jail-free card with loud jungle sex last month. 

Which, _yeah_, totally worth it.

But it's probably okay. Their team is smart, and they're used to Cougar's wacky ways that occasionally involve weapons discharges, so they're most likely alive and whole. And, you know, _also_ waiting to kick Jensen's ass.

"G'nna t'ke you wit' me on m' m'dlife cris's, 'k?" Jensen tells Cougar, because in this moment, nothing sounds better. 

From his shoulder there's a choked sound and a nod. "Don't have to take me. I would follow."  
Jensen doesn't doubt it. All it would take is his word, and they'd be off starting a newer, safer, less pain-filled life somewhere. 

Jensen won't give that word. He won't make the team find replacements, find people who would have their back the same way he and Cougar do. Well, the way Cougar has their back when Jensen _isn't_ near death. 

"Sh'd we go n'w?" 

"Maybe we will tomorrow." 

Cougar is lying to him, and Jensen's really, really okay with that because Cougar understands. Cougar always does. 

Maybe that's why it hurts so much. 

They both know they're gonna end up trying to survive long enough to see their team retire. 

And then, if they're both still alive, then they'll go somewhere quiet. 

Somewhere with soft beds and water heaters that actually heat more than a cup of water every twelve hours. Somewhere where Cougar will have time to learn to cook and Jensen will have to learn non-military social skills. They'll fuck in soft beds and shower using warm water. They'll have meals with things like _texture_ and _flavor_ and they'll make friends with their neighbors so they can borrow cups of sugar or whatever the fuck it is you do when you own a two-bedroom/two bath in suburbia. 

If only one of them lives... Well. It won't be a problem for long and not because the other's heart gave up beating the moment the other died or because the stars stopped shinning or for some other bullshit Romeo and Juliet reason.

They're _Losers_. Losers don't give up and Losers don't lay down and die. Even if they want to.

But it wouldn't matter, because if there's only one half of Cougar-and-Jensen, Jensen-and-Cougar, the other half won't last. They've been fucking, fighting, and fighting while fucking together for so long that they're codependent in ways that go beyond an emotional need. 

Cougar doesn't scan the radios before he moves, because Jensen does. Jensen doesn't watch the skyline when he moves, because Cougar does. It's the little things like how Jensen never remembers to bring gloves. It's big things like how Cougar forgets his Epipen and doesn't bother to think about what might be in whatever he's eating when he's hungry.

It won't take long, because it's fucking sloppy, and even worse, it's _stupid_. 

But the things that get you killed always are. 

If the worst happens, it will only take a handful of missions and they'll forget the other person isn't there looking out for them. 

Just for a second. 

It'll be so easy. Their instincts will tell them, _it's okay, he's got your back, when has he ever let you down?_ And they'll listen because they learned long ago to trust their instincts without question.

In those few seconds, when they forget and listen to their instincts, that'll be all it takes to destroy what's left of Jensen-and-Cougar, Cougar-and-Jensen.

It's fucking depressing, and they're both still alive, so Jensen moves the fuck on.

In a little while, Cougar will get the others and they'll take turns chewing Jensen out. He'll make bad jokes, and Cougar will glare, and no one will dress down Cougar, because apparently having a hat and giving people the silent treatment makes them scared of you. Well, that and the time he shot Roque in the butt. But that's one of those things the team tries to pretend never happened. Like Pooch under the effect of endless mojitos and Clay's freak out when he realized that the love of his life had an adam's apple and a lot of knives.

For now, they're okay. Even if it's not all that okay. 

Cougar and Jensen will make do with dirt floors, MREs, and missions that bring them back with less and less skin and more and more scar tissue. They'll give up more and more dreams for more and more nightmares and keep coming back for more. They'll keep what's left of their sanity by thinking about the days when they're finally allowed to rest whatever might be left of them.

"Clay thinks we're heading to Bolivia when you're healed," Cougar says. 

"I hate Bolivia." Even though it isn't Bolivia Jensen hates right now.

"Just a little longer." It's a lie.

Maybe it's not a lie. Maybe Cougar's right. It can't be too long until they're free. After all, Pooch's wife is expecting, Clay's no spring chicken anymore, and Roque will need to follow Clay to ensure Clay gets over his not-gay-no-way freakout and doesn't die at the hands of some crazy woman Clay thinks he's proving something with.

So yeah. It can't be _too_ long. 

Maybe Jensen and Cougar'll get a dog when it happens. Something small and yippy they can train to annoy Roque. Maybe Cougar will forget how to mix up IV bags and he'll buy a guitar and learn to play it. Only for Jensen, though, because Jensen isn't stupid. (The hat, the smolder, _and_ a guitar? Even Pooch would go gay for a chance at that.) Maybe they'll even spend a week not talking to each other because one of them didn't take out the trash. 

Maybe ...

Jensen keeps moving his hand through Cougar's hair, ignoring the feel of oil and Cougar's tears on his face.

**Author's Note:**

> Was previously posted, then taken down. Now it's back up. Beware the errors and typos, I suspect the files I found on my old hard drive are the pre-beta versions.  
Please don't steal any of my silly stories and change some names around and then try to sell them as books on Amazon or I'm gonna have to take everything down again.


End file.
